


If You Couldn't Lie

by alpha_exodus



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alcohol, Blow Jobs, Friends to Lovers, Hand Jobs, Ill-advised kissing, M/M, Mutual Pining, Post-Hogwarts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-28
Updated: 2020-03-28
Packaged: 2021-02-28 22:01:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23354365
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alpha_exodus/pseuds/alpha_exodus
Summary: The worst possible thing Draco could've done was to tell Harry he wouldn't mind sleeping with him.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 81
Kudos: 1103





	If You Couldn't Lie

**Author's Note:**

> if all else fails, write them drunk!! is just about how i feel about this. thanks always to my dear friend mattie/feelsforbreakfast for betaing!! <3
> 
> title from split stones by maggie rogers!

This is new.

All right, not all of it is new—the whole being-friends-with-Draco-Malfoy bit has been going on for quite a while, if Harry’s being honest, and so has the part where he’s sitting on Draco’s sofa on a Friday night because neither of them have anything better to do.

But the being-drunk thing is new.

Sure, they go out to the weekly Auror department pub nights, but Harry doesn’t get _drunk_ there, and neither does Draco. That’s how they started talking in the first place, really—Ron’s begged off most pub nights for the past year because of baby Rosie, leaving Harry alone with the rest of their team. He likes the others well enough, but for some reason he’s never really felt like he’s able to be himself around them, and with Ron gone he feels even more like a misfit.

It was shortly after Ron stopped coming out when Harry started to think that maybe Draco felt just as out of place as Harry did.

There was a night where he spent most of the night watching Draco sit in the corner, nursing a drink and barely speaking, just like Harry was. The night was almost over when, in a snap decision, Harry got up and went to sit beside him.

He’d been surprised, then, at how easy it was to talk to Draco. It doesn’t surprise him anymore.

Since then they’ve become the sort of friends who carefully avoid talking about the fact that they’re friends, except that they always sit together at pub nights and Harry ends up eating dinner on Draco’s sofa at least once weekly, talking about sometimes nothing and sometimes every topic imaginable. The night Harry started calling him Draco was the night they finally talked about the war, when they’d stayed up until the early hours of the morning, letting out fears and memories and apologies in quiet voices.

That was the night Harry really thinks he forgave Draco, for everything. It was also maybe the night Harry started working on forgiving himself.

Somehow Draco’s become one of his closest friends, and despite the horror his younger self would feel at that, he thinks he doesn’t mind at all.

Tonight they’re at Draco’s after the pub, which isn’t abnormal on its own. No, the abnormal part is that after they arrived, Draco went and pulled two glasses and a bottle of firewhisky out of the cupboard, offering Harry some with a raised brow.

It’s not that they’ve avoided drinking together. It’s just that they’ve never really thought to do it, beyond the pub nights and the occasional birthday party. But drinking at the pub surrounded by people is incredibly different than drinking now, alone with Draco and actually drunk for once, the languid thrum of alcohol deepening in Harry’s veins.

He glances over at Draco, who’s lounging on the sofa, pink-cheeked and smiling and with a nearly empty glass of firewhisky dangling from his fingers—and then Harry has to look away, because looking at Draco through the fuzzy lens of the whisky is making him feel funny.

It’s because it’s so new, isn’t it? Of course it is. And he’s drunk. That’s all.

He takes another sip of whisky, the heat of it pleasant in his throat, and then very carefully sets his glass down on the end table. “Isn’t it your turn?”

“Oh, is it?” Draco asks, frowning briefly in concentration. They’ve been going back and forth asking each other questions in a way that very much reminds Harry of sitting in the eighth year common room by the fire, playing Truth or Dare. Not that he ever really played back then. He’s not the type to share his secrets so willingly.

Somehow this sort of thing feels more okay with Draco. He supposes part of it is because he knows he could refuse to answer if he wanted, and Draco wouldn’t judge. Sure, he might mock him a bit, but they do that to each other all the time anyway, even at work, finding excuses to drop by and hurl vague not-quite-insults at each other despite the fact that their desks are practically on opposite sides of the department.

“Ah, you’re right,” Draco says finally, setting his own glass down. “You did ask last.”

“Yes,” Harry says, and Draco smiles at him, seemingly proud at having remembered.

Apparently Draco smiles a lot when he’s drunk. It’s more than a bit unnerving—Harry’s seen him smile before, but it’s nowhere near common. He can count the instances he’s witnessed it on one hand: the day their cohort passed Auror training, the time Robards had managed to get the entire department tickets for the world cup, and just once or twice, when Harry cracked a joke that caught Draco off guard.

Until now, when Draco is grinning like a loon and making Harry feel suddenly adrift.

“I don’t know what to ask,” Draco says, the smile sliding off his face. “We’ve already gone through everything interesting.”

Harry thinks for a moment. “We, er. We haven’t talked about dating yet,” he points out, his cheeks going hot. He tells himself it’s just the alcohol. They’re _friends_. They can talk about dating without it being weird, and anyway, why would it be weird? It’s just Draco.

“But that’s boring,” Draco says broodily. “Everyone knows what your dating life is like—you snogged Chang back in third year, and then there was Ginny Weasley of course, and then you decided you weren’t into women and stopped dating entirely.”

Merlin. He’s mostly right. Harry pulls a face and says, “Ah, fuck. Wait, how do you know all that?”

“Common knowledge, honestly. You know how the Hogwarts rumor mill went,” Draco says loftily, and snickers when Harry curses again.

“At any rate,” Harry says, wondering if he shouldn’t admit to this and then deciding it’s fine—“You’ve missed someone.”

“Oh?” Draco says, his eyebrows shooting up.

“Go ahead, ask,” Harry says. “It’s your turn for a question anyway.”

“Who is it?” Draco asks, leaning toward him in interest, and suddenly Harry is even warmer than before. Maybe he should switch to drinking water.

He swallows, not quite sure how Draco will react. “Charlie Weasley.”

“Ah,” Draco says, nodding as if it wasn’t unexpected.

“What? Aren’t you surprised?”

“Well, not really,” Draco says, shrugging one shoulder. “I mean, he’s the hot one, isn’t he?”

Harry nearly chokes despite not having anything in his mouth, because for the briefest moment an image of Draco snogging Charlie pops into his mind, all pale skin and looking so uptight against the leather of Charlie’s dragon handler uniform, their lips melding together in a way that is honestly rather obscene—

Something uncomfortable twists in his stomach, and he shoves that thought as far away as he can get it.

“I suppose,” Harry mumbles.

“You sound so gruff about it for being the one who fucked him,” Draco says, raising an eyebrow.

Harry’s face burns. “What—I never said I did!”

Draco tilts his head. “Well, did you?”

“It’s not your turn anymore.”

“You can ask two next,” Draco says, waving Harry’s protest off with one hand. “I want to know.”

Harry sighs, exasperated. “Fine, I did,” he admits. “But it was only a couple of times.”

“Hm,” Draco says, nodding again. “Interesting.”

“What?”

“I sort of thought you were a virgin, is all,” Draco says, shrugging, but before Harry can start to feel offended, he adds, “Not as any sort of commentary on you, I mean. Just because the rumor mill didn’t seem to think you’d gone that far with Ginny Weasley, and after that you were busy with the war. Then when the war ended you weren’t seeing anyone for all of eighth year, and you joined the Aurors immediately after like I did. Just... seemed like you might not have had time, is all.”

“Fair,” Harry concedes, wondering just what it means that Draco is so knowledgeable about his life. It makes him feel oddly tingly. “Charlie was... I went to Romania to visit him for a couple of weeks before eighth year started. Just to, you know. Get away from it all.”

“And get off,” Draco says, grinning slyly.

“Shut _up_ ,” Harry mumbles. Then, before he can lose his courage, he asks the question that’s been burning in his throat—“Anyway, are you? A virgin, I mean?”

Draco shakes his head. “Nope,” he says. “I slept with Pansy once—awful idea from both of us, really, never again. Then I hooked up with Theo Nott for a while in eighth year, then a one off with Blaise when we were drunk a few months or so ago.”

Harry nods, flushing, resisting the sudden urge to hide his face. It’s all at once both more information than he wanted and yet still not enough—he finds that he’s curious now, that he wants to know the sordid details. Except of course he can’t; he feels like it’d be weird to ask, weird in the way it’s weird that his heart rate keeps going up from looking at Draco right now.

“Your turn again,” Draco reminds him.

“Oh, er,” Harry says, and has to scramble for a question—he forgot he was going twice. Really, he _wants_ to know more about Draco’s past lovers, but part of him feels like that might hurt for some reason—

Oh. He’s jealous. That’s what it is, this roaring feeling in his chest.

Merlin, his mind is starting to go down paths he does _not_ want it to go down. He needs to stop thinking about this, so he asks Draco a question that’s scandalous enough to be part of the game but really should be relatively innocuous at best. “I suppose... er... If you could sleep with anyone in the department, who would it be?” He’s not expecting the answer to come as a shock—it’s readily accepted that David Smith is the hottest man in their department. Hell, even Ron’s called him fit before. It’s an easy answer for Draco.

Harry probably wouldn’t have asked it if he knew that the answer was going to make things so complicated.

Draco’s eyebrows shoot up. He opens his mouth, pauses, and closes it again, an odd expression flitting across his face. Then he sits up and takes a sip of his whisky. “It’d probably be you,” he says casually, as if it’s nothing.

Harry stares at him, shock cutting through the drunken haze of his mind. “Sorry... what?”

“Oh, don’t get all weird about it,” Draco says, frowning. “It’s not a big deal—it’s not like I’m mooning over you or anything. It’s just that I’ve only ever really had sex with my friends, and, well. You’re the only person in the department I spend time with regularly, so...” he trails off, looking embarrassed.

“Okay, I get it, I think,” Harry says. “Sorry, I was just. Surprised. Anyway, I sort of thought you’d say David Smith.”

“He’s fit, I’ll give you that,” Draco says. “Alas, married. Is that who you’d say?”

Harry thinks about it for a moment. Then he swallows against the embarrassment that creeps up in his chest, shifting nervously. “No,” he says. “I suppose I’d probably... say you as well.”

“Oh,” Draco says, looking genuinely surprised. “Really?”

“Yeah, I mean,” Harry says, shrugging. “It’s like you said. I know you better than the others. And it’s not like you’re not fit.”

“Hm,” Draco says, going even pinker than he was before. “Well. In this theoretical scenario I suppose the sex would probably be brilliant, what with... you know.” He waves his hand between them. “Our history and all that.”

“Merlin, I couldn’t imagine,” Harry says, and he sort of wants to laugh and cry all at once because it’s a lie—all of a sudden he _can_ imagine it, the two of them fucking, limbs all tangled together and Draco’s skin soft and warm against his—

Harry didn’t know he wanted that until now.

“Well, at any rate it’s not like it’s actually going to happen,” Draco says, causing Harry’s train of thought to crash abruptly.

“Right,” Harry says, trying to laugh it off. “Yeah, that’d be insane.”

“Absolutely mad,” Draco agrees, still not looking at him. Then he picks up his glass, and in a tone of voice that makes Harry think he’s scrambling for a change of conversation, he says, “Your turn again, isn’t it?”

xXx

For all intents and purposes, Harry should have been able to get over it.

Except that ever since they both kind of sort of admitted they wouldn’t mind having sex with each other, it’s all Harry can think about.

It sits in the back of his mind, perking up whenever Draco is around, taunting him as they eat their lunch together as usual, taking firm residence in his chest when Draco’s knee brushes against his under the table at pub night.

But he can ignore it. Like Draco said, it’s not a big deal.

He can ignore it just fine, except two weeks later they’re both assigned to a team where the case they’re working on rapidly goes arse over tit, the perpetrator escapes, and all of them are left angry and frustrated as they slink into the Ministry atrium to go home.

Draco catches his elbow before he can reach the Floo. “I need a drink,” he mutters, and Harry agrees wholeheartedly and follows him home instead.

So that’s how they end up drunk on Draco’s sofa again. And that’s how Harry ends up finding his eyes drawn back to Draco, over and over, no matter how hard he tries to stop himself.

“What?” Draco says, after the third time he’s caught Harry staring at him.

Harry tears his eyes away and swallows hard. “Nothing.”

“You’ve been looking at me funny all night,” Draco says.

Harry’s prepared to lie, except then he looks over at Draco and Draco is starting to look offended and maybe a little hurt. “Sorry,” he says quickly. “I, er...”

“I know I fucked up the case,” Draco says suddenly, staring at the floor. “I just didn’t think that _you_ would be annoyed at me too. No doubt everyone’s going to have my arse on Monday.”

Oh. Is that what he’s worried about? Harry thinks about it for a moment and remembers vaguely that Draco had been the one on point when they’d been ambushed in the warehouse, but it’s not something he could have prevented. They’d all been blindsided. “What—no, no, I’m not annoyed at you! It wasn’t your fault at all—it would’ve happened to any of us.”

“Then why are you staring at me like I’m causing you pain?” Draco asks, crossing his arms but at the same time looking so vulnerable that Harry’s heart stutters.

He has the bizarre urge to lean across the sofa and hug him.

And then, because he’s drunk, he does it anyway.

“Mmph— _Potter_ —” Draco chokes out in surprise, but he hugs Harry back anyway as Harry shifts so that they’re seated side by side. Then he lets out a long sigh. “It’s hard.”

“What is?”

“To feel... accepted,” Draco says quietly.

Harry’s face twists and he nods, pulling away and looking down at his lap. Draco’s had a harder time than anyone else has, earning respect on the team. It’s part of the reason Harry started hanging out with him more—it made him angry, to see the rest of the department shunning him, when in Harry’s opinion Draco had barely done anything wrong since halfway through the war.

It helped that Draco sent apologies to everyone he could reach back in eighth year, Harry included. By the time Harry had gone to sit down with him that one pub night, he'd really stopped thinking of him as an enemy at all; they were allies then, both of them feeling deeply out of place in a room full of acquaintances.

The rest of the Aurors had come around to approving of him eventually. Still, Harry knows that Draco’s sensitive about it, for good reason. Harry understands; he knows intimately how shitty it can feel to have so much negative attention on oneself.

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Harry tells him. “It was just a fluke.”

Draco sighs. “All right,” he says carefully. “So...” He leans back against the cushions and looks at Harry. “Why were you staring at me, then?”

Harry goes red. Fuck. “I just...”

“Just what?”

“I was... just thinking about last time we did this,” Harry admits quietly.

Draco raises an eyebrow. “Last time we fucked up a case?”

“No, I mean—last time we got drunk together,” Harry says, feeling his heart start to race.

“Oh,” Draco says, his eyes widening. “You mean...”

He trails off, and Harry’s not really sure he wants to be the one to finish that sentence, so he just nods miserably, hoping Draco won’t press him on it.

“You’re... really thinking about that? Still?” Draco asks, his voice going uncharacteristically soft.

“It’s not a big deal,” Harry quotes him, even though it kind of _is_ , at this point. “I just never really thought about it before, and... now that I have, I can’t unthink it.”

Draco stares at him for a moment, then lets out a long sigh. “Potter. As much as I’m flattered, I hope you know it would be a terrible idea, for us to sleep together.”

He’s said it so openly that Harry’s chest burns. “What do you mean?” Then he thinks about it and adds, “I mean, besides us being coworkers, obviously.”

Draco gives him a look, one that seems to be half exasperation and half an odd sort of fondness. “Did you not hear me say last time that you’re literally my only friend in the department?”

“You didn’t say that,” Harry contests.

“It was implied.” Draco’s mouth twists. “I... Look. I’ll admit I’ve... also been thinking about it.”

Harry’s heart nearly stops.

“But,” Draco continues, “It’s... it’s not worth fucking up one of the only good relationships I have left.”

“Oh,” Harry breathes, and suddenly he feels guilty. “I understand.”

“You don’t have to feel bad about it or anything,” Draco tells him, his brow furrowing. “Like I said, I’ve been thinking about it too. It’s just not a good idea to—to actually act on it.”

“Right,” Harry says, resolving immediately to think about it as little as possible.

Then Draco aims a small smile at him and his resolve goes out the window. “Thanks, Potter,” he says. “You’re not so bad, you know.”

“Anytime,” Harry says, feeling like a liar.

xXx

“And then Pansy was saying that she _didn’t,_ in fact, want to go— _Potter_.”

Harry blinks rapidly. “Huh?”

Draco gives him a look. They’re sitting on his sofa, the coffee table littered with takeout containers and a distinct lack of alcohol anywhere in sight.

Unfortunately, that hasn’t stopped Harry from accidentally staring at him more than once.

“You’re doing it again,” Draco says quietly.

“Fuck,” Harry mutters. “Sorry.”

“It’s...” Draco waves a hand. “It’s fine. I mean. I don’t care if you’re thinking about it.”

“Really?” Harry asks, surprised.

“I... would be a bit of a hypocrite, if I told you that you shouldn’t. Wouldn’t I?”

Harry’s chest goes warm. “I dunno. Would you?”

Draco’s eyes meet his, and then he looks away, demure. “Yes,” he says. “I would.”

Harry’s never wanted to kiss him more. Instead he sits on his hands and forces himself to ask Draco to continue his story.

xXx

“That was _brilliant_ ,” Draco says, tugging Harry aside as they reach the department offices, and Harry’s pulse immediately quickens. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen Draco so elated. They’ve just gotten back from apprehending the leader of one of the biggest smuggling rings the department’s ever seen. Nearly everyone on the floor was in on the raid, but it was Harry and Draco who had the pleasure of being the ones to take him down.

“Wasn’t it?” he asks, grinning despite himself, and in that moment they share a look so intense that Harry’s mouth goes dry.

Draco’s expression turns serious. “Come over after the debrief,” he says quietly. It’s not a question.

Harry swallows. Usually they all go out as a group after cases like this, but he can’t resist the way Draco’s looking at him right now, like he wants to be around Harry more than anything, like it would be painful to walk away. “Okay,” he says, his voice a mere rasp.

And that’s how he ends up in Draco’s kitchen, helping him find various materials for pasta and listening to him chat away about the raid.

“—and did you _see_ his face? He never saw it coming!” Draco recounts, setting water on the stove to boil.

Harry resists the urge to roll his eyes—it’s probably the fifth time Draco’s repeated the story from the time they walked in the door. “I did. I was there, you know.”

“Oh. Right,” Draco says, his expression shuttering, and okay, yeah, he was being a bit annoying, but Harry didn’t mean to make him feel _bad_.

He puts his hand on Draco’s shoulder before he can talk himself out of it. “It _was_ brilliant, though,” he says, and Draco’s face softens, making him go all warm inside. “It’s a shame we’re not regularly partnered.”

He’d meant to remove his hand, but he’d forgotten, and then Draco takes a step closer and his heart leaps into his throat. “Yes. A shame,” Draco repeats, his brow furrowing in concentration.

That’s all the warning Harry gets before Draco crowds him against the counter and kisses him.

“ _Mmn_ —” Harry groans, quietly panicking because part of his mind is saying that they shouldn’t be doing this. But the rest of his mind is telling him to wrap his arms around Draco’s waist and tug him closer, so he does.

Just this once, maybe.

Draco’s lips slide against his own, again and again until Harry’s dizzy and hot, his body caught between Draco’s and the counter. He can’t believe they’ve never done this before. How had he never known how good it was to kiss Draco, to have him warm and close and intimate like this?

They kiss until, beside them, the water starts to boil. Draco sighs through his nose and pulls away, leaving Harry with an armful of longing where Draco had been.

Draco’s cheeks are pink. “Ah,” he says, stepping back and going to grab the box of pasta. “Well.”

“That was...” Harry clears his throat, still leaning against the counter, embarrassed and half hard.

“Probably a bad decision?” Draco finishes for him, pouring the pasta into the water with a splash.

Harry was going to say something like _really good_ , or even possibly _the best kiss I’ve ever had_. Instead he turns around and inspects the jar of marinara with a lump in his throat. “Yeah.”

“We shouldn’t do that again,” Draco says decisively, picking up his wand to set a timer for the pasta and then setting it back down.

Harry shoots him a look. “You’re the one who—y’know. Kissed _me_.”

Letting out a long sigh, Draco finally looks at him again, something like worry in his eyes. “I know.”

“So don’t yell at me for it,” Harry says, but there’s no bite to the words as they leave his mouth. He thinks he’s less sad about getting reprimanded than he is about the thought of never getting to kiss Draco again.

“Sorry,” Draco says, so faintly Harry almost thinks he’s imagined it. Draco clears his throat, staring down at the boiling water. “I suppose I was more trying to lecture myself.”

“Oh,” Harry says, his jaw falling open slightly. He forces it shut. “Er. Well. It was...”

Draco gives him a wordless look of caution.

Harry flushes but says what he’d meant to say anyway. “It was nice,” he finishes, and Draco’s posture doesn’t change, but he blinks in surprise or maybe pleasure.

“Potter...” he says, looking away.

“It doesn’t have to be more than that,” Harry adds quickly. “I’m just saying. It was—nice.”

Draco nods and stirs the pasta. Then he takes one look at the ticking _Tempus_ before stepping closer to Harry again, his façade falling just the slightest bit, leaving him with a look in his eyes that Harry can only describe as yearning. “It _was_ nice,” Draco says, his voice cracking on the last word.

This time Harry is the one to lean in, to catch Draco’s wrist in one hand and his shoulder in the other, to slot their mouths together in the middle of the kitchen.

“Potter,” Draco pulls away to complain, but it comes out as more of a whine and even then Draco leans back in and kisses him again anyway. Harry shivers and backs Draco into the nearest surface, which happens to be the fridge, taking care this time to suck at Draco’s lip, heart speeding at the way Draco moans in response and slips his tongue into Harry’s mouth.

Just as Harry is wondering if it would be too bold to try and press their bodies any closer, Draco slides a hand down his back, landing to cup his arse and pull him in, slotting their thighs together. “ _Oh_ ,” Harry gasps, because he’s hard and Draco’s hard and he can’t help but roll his hips against him, the material of their trousers sliding roughly together.

“Merlin, Potter,” Draco mutters, a near growl, and it’s all Harry can do to stay upright as he presses Draco against the cold metal of the fridge and kisses him again, Draco’s arm curling around him, his hand sliding warm up the back of Harry’s shirt—

The pasta timer goes off with a sharp beeping sound, making them both jump. Harry pulls away, breathing heavily, and lets out a frustrated sigh. “Er.”

Draco’s entire face is red. He sidesteps around Harry and turns off the stove. “So. Anyway.”

“Anyway?” Harry repeats.

“No more of that,” Draco says. “Right?”

Harry almost protests until he catches sight of Draco’s expression and sees that he looks... scared. ‘ _It’s not worth fucking up one of the only good relationships I have left_ ,’ he remembers Draco saying. Then he thinks of how nice it’s been, to be just friends with Draco—how _easy_ it is, to be together as they are, and suddenly he understands how Draco might feel.

He bites his lip and nods. “Okay. No more of that.”

xXx

It turns out they’re both extraordinarily bad at keeping to their word.

It’s how they end up snogging on the sofa three days later, Draco climbing on top of Harry, kissing until their mouths are raw.

“This is—” Draco cuts off, panting, “A really terrible idea.”

“Absolutely,” Harry agrees, even though he’s having a difficult time thinking about anything except the way Draco’s body is pressed all up against him. Briefly he wonders if they’re going to fight about this eventually, because that’s how it always seems to be between them, even now. Then he wonders if maybe after they fight, they’ll end up finally fucking in a fit of passion, and the idea is so hot that he can’t help lifting his hips at the thought of it.

“Potter,” Draco grumbles, but he presses back, and Harry whines at the friction.

“What?” he asks breathily.

“I thought you agreed with me,” Draco says, his words warm puffs against Harry’s chin, his eyes half-lidded.

Harry’s breath hitches. “Maybe... maybe I don’t,” he admits, sliding his hands up and down Draco’s back. “Maybe I think this is a brilliant idea.”

Draco sighs and turns his head, lying down fully on top of Harry, the weight of him comforting as he tucks his face into Harry’s shoulder. “It’s really not. You shouldn’t fuck your best friends. Why do you think Pansy and I stopped talking?”

 _Best friends_ , Harry thinks, the words pulsing warm in his chest, and then—‘ _But we’re different_.’ Even though he has no way of knowing that, not really. “Sorry,” he says instead.

“Guess it’s both of our faults, technically,” Draco mumbles. “We’re both tossers.”

“Probably,” Harry says, smiling faintly when Draco pushes himself up and gives him a wry look.

“It would be bloody fantastic if—” Draco stops, then lowers his voice, as if he’s telling a secret—“If I could stop wanting it so damn much.”

“Draco...” Harry says, his face heating.

“What?”

“Just...” Harry looks away. “I want it too, you know. Terribly.”

“I know,” Draco says, and when Harry looks back at him, he’s smirking slightly. “It’s rather obvious right now.”

“If you don’t want it to be obvious then get off of me, you git,” Harry says, shoving at him, and Draco snorts and peels himself up, curling into the other side of the sofa.

“There,” Draco says, looking proud. “I have self-control.”

“You _were_ the one who climbed on top of me,” Harry accuses as he sits up too.

“You let me.”

“I did.”

“You—” Draco looks away, his brow furrowing. “You shouldn’t let me.”

“Okay,” Harry says, even though he really doesn’t want to agree to this. But Draco is asking it of him, and Harry does understand Draco’s fears; he can feel already how things are changing between them. It _is_ terrifying.

Draco is right. He sighs and says, “I won’t.”

xXx

Harry is a liar.

Or maybe Draco is the liar. Actually, both of them are liars, because they only manage to last two weeks before it happens again.

They were having some petty squabble in the kitchen about Harry leaving his shoes in the middle of Draco’s entryway, which Harry fully admits to. Really, he thinks it isn’t that big a deal, but Draco seems _convinced_ that shoes are ‘an obvious tripping hazard’ and need to be placed neatly against the wall. Somehow it escalated into shouting at each other about being behind on the smuggling case paperwork—which is _both_ of their faults, thank you very much—and Harry is nearly angry enough to start throwing hexes when Draco shoves him roughly to the wall and kisses him.

It’s the most violent kiss Harry’s ever had. It’s also probably the hottest, all teeth and rough nips and presses of lips that feel like they could bruise.

They break apart.

“Fuck,” Draco says, pulling back sharply and glaring at him. Then he shakes his head and kisses him again, and Harry groans and wraps his arms around him just a bit too tightly, and then the next thing he knows they’re being squeezed tight into the tube of Apparition, landing squarely in the middle of Draco’s dimly lit bedroom.

Harry stares at him. “Did you just—”

“Potter. Shut _up_ ,” Draco says, and kisses him again, and then he starts tugging at Harry’s t-shirt and Harry pulls back and lets him remove it entirely.

“Are you sure this is a good id—” Harry starts, but Draco’s subsequent glare cuts him off. “Whatever. Fine then. Don’t talk.”

“Oh, fuck you, Potter,” Draco mumbles, the effect mildly ruined by the fact that he’s in the middle of taking off his own shirt.

“You’d like that, wouldn’t you?” Harry says coolly.

Draco rolls his eyes sharply, reaching for the fastener of his own trousers. “If I say yes will you stop talking?”

Harry bats his hand away and undoes Draco’s zip himself, wrestling the trousers down Draco’s hips and then hooking a finger into his pants as well. “Potentially.”

“Wait,” Draco says, grabbing at Harry’s wrist. “We...” He trails off, and suddenly all the anger melts from his body, leaving him looking so vulnerable that Harry doesn’t know what to do with it. “We’re not—I didn’t want it to be like this.”

Harry feels himself deflate too, which is terrifying, because then he’s left alone with how much he _wants_ Draco right now. He takes a step closer and pulls Draco into a hug, partially just to hide his own face. “It doesn’t have to be. Right?”

He can feel Draco nod. “Okay,” Draco says, and then, quietly, “I’m sorry, I suppose. About earlier.”

“Me too,” Harry says, pressing the words into Draco’s skin, reveling in the fact that he’s allowed to be so close to him.

“Fuck. I still... want,” Draco says, then shakes his head.

“Yeah?” Harry asks, voice catching mid-word. “Me... me too.”

Draco pulls away, giving him a lingering look. Then he carefully nudges Harry toward the bed.

 _Merlin_.

Harry tumbles onto the sheets, pulling Draco down with him, and this time when they kiss it’s softer, more like the other times, full of a warm fluttering that insists on stirring in Harry’s gut. They kiss until Harry almost forgets they’d been fighting, almost forgets how nervous he is, and then they keep kissing still.

Finally Draco pulls back, and when Harry blinks his eyes open, Draco’s face is red, his lips parted, eyes locked on Harry.

Oh.

Harry’s falling a little in love with him, isn’t he? But maybe that’s stupid—wouldn’t he have known by now, after so many years?

“Take these off,” Draco says, pinching at Harry’s trousers, and Harry complies, even though his nervousness is only growing. Then they’re both half-naked, lying side by side and kissing again, and Harry thinks to himself that this is very nearly everything he’s wanted these past few weeks.

It’s just that something is off, something he can’t quite put his finger on, even as he slips his hand into Draco’s pants, even as he circles his fist around Draco’s cock and Draco’s eyes flutter shut with pleasure. Maybe it’s because they’re both terrified, he thinks, slicking Draco with his own pre-come as he strokes him, watching as Draco shudders and holds back moans and doesn’t quite meet his eyes.

Maybe it’s because neither of them wants to face what this _really_ means, that this has happened so easily, this culmination of wanting that’s been going on for weeks or even months. Maybe they’re moving too fast, or this really is just a bad idea. But Harry doesn’t want to stop. He wants desperately for this to be good, for Draco to look at him and maybe love him back.

“Is this okay?” he asks Draco. He’s not sure he wants to hear the answer.

“Yes,” Draco says, eyes sliding shut. “It’s good, don’t stop.”

Harry wonders if he’s being honest. He wishes Draco would look at him, but he keeps touching him anyway, focusing on twisting his hand in a way he hopes feels nice.

“Potter—” Draco says, a choked off sound, and he reaches over and jerks at Harry’s pants. Harry pauses just long enough to wriggle them off, heart in his throat as Draco does the same, and then Draco rolls on top of him, finally meeting his eyes. “This is... all right for you too, right?” Draco asks.

“Yeah,” Harry says, wanting to mean it more than anything. He tugs Draco down to kiss him for a moment. Then Draco Summons lube to slick between their cocks and they rut together, wide-eyed, full of breathy sighs, clutching at each other like they’ll fall apart if they let go.

They fall apart anyway. Draco comes first, spurting sticky between them, and the sight is so hot that Harry wants to die. Instead he comes too, moments later, bucking his hips up against Draco’s body.

And then it’s over.

Draco rolls to the side, landing next to him, and then they’re both staring up at the ceiling. “Well,” he says quietly.

Fuck. Harry doesn’t know what to do, what to say. It’s awkward, and Harry hadn’t wanted it to be awkward. He wanted to be easy and warm and fun, like the kissing has been, like talking to Draco always is.

“That was...” he starts.

“Not the worst?” Draco tries, and Harry appreciates him trying to be positive about it but the whole thing is making him so acutely anxious that he doesn’t think he can do the same.

“Maybe a bad idea,” Harry corrects, and Draco sighs and nods beside him.

“Told you,” Draco says, and gets up to put on his clothes.

Harry does the same, heart hurting, haphazardly slinging his pants and trousers on and wondering with a pang where they went wrong.

xXx

There’s a terrifying half week where Draco doesn’t talk to him, doesn’t invite him over, and Harry’s so scared of having some sort of _we can’t be friends anymore_ conversation that he avoids Draco entirely at work. It gets so bad that even Ron notices, remarking nonchalantly that Draco hasn’t been by their shared desk space lately, and Harry’s almost worked up the courage to say something to Draco about it when Draco makes a move first.

“You can come over tonight,” Draco says, and Harry jumps in his desk chair—he hadn’t heard Draco walk up next to him.

“Okay,” he says, looking up at Draco, and he’s a little reassured by the fact that Draco looks just as confused as Harry feels.

So he goes, and they do their usual Friday routine of ordering takeout and eating it on Draco’s sofa. It’s going perfectly fine with them idly watching the telly, shooting the shit, pointedly Not Talking About What Happened—

Except suddenly Harry’s started _noticing_ things about Draco. Like the way his hair glints in the light from the ceiling when he tilts his head a certain direction, or the way the edges of his lips prick into the tiniest of not-quite-smiles just before he’s about to laugh. And maybe he’s noticed these things before, but they all seem so much more _real_ now that they’ve fucked, so real that Harry’s chest is tight and he almost can’t breathe.

The conversation they’d been having about work trickles off into nothingness. Harry knows it’s because he can’t stop staring at him, and Draco is giving him a look, one that’s part exasperation and maybe part fear.

“You can’t look at me like that,” Draco says, dropping his eyes. “You can’t look at me like you’re thinking about it, or this won’t work.”

“What won’t work?” Harry asks, suddenly annoyed—“Just bloody ignoring it like we have been?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Draco says, his brow furrowing. “I told you I didn’t want—” He cuts off and shakes his head. “Fuck. All right, I did want it, but...”

“But you regret it,” Harry says, his heart sinking as Draco shrinks further into himself.

“Yeah,” Draco says, then makes a face. “I mean. No. Or... fuck. I don’t know, Potter,” he says with a sharp sigh. “It was a bad idea.”

Harry nods, staring at the coffee table, covered in the remnants of their dinner. It _was_ a bad idea, because now that they’ve done it, he’s not sure he’ll ever be able to stop wanting it, wanting Draco.

He hates knowing that he doesn’t have him.

He bites his lip. “I know it was a bad idea. But.”

“But?” Draco asks, making a very bad effort at hiding how terrified he feels.

“But I’d do it again,” Harry whispers.

“Potter—” Draco lets out an exasperated sigh. “Why do you have to— _ugh_.”

“Have to wha—”

“Have to keep _saying_ things like that?” Draco cuts him off before he can finish.

“In my defense, you started it,” Harry points out, frowning. Draco _had_ started it by saying he’d sleep with Harry in the first place, the words that made Harry so utterly unable to think about anything else, anyone else but Draco.

“I was being _honest_ ,” Draco mutters. “I thought you Gryffindors valued that sort of thing.”

“Well, I’m being honest with you now, okay?” Harry shoots back. “Look. I want you. I want you a lot. Okay? And maybe we can ignore it, and it’ll go away, and if that’s what you want then fine, I’ll deal with it. But if that’s not what you want...” He takes a deep breath, startled to realize that he’s nearly on the edge of tears. “But if there’s any chance you _do_ want—this, or me, then—just let it _happen_ , Draco.”

Draco stares at him in faint shock, his pale eyes wide, mouth slightly agape. Then he bites his lip. “Of course I want it,” he says quietly. “But it’s not worth the possibility of—of you turning your back on me someday. Of not having you anymore. I’d—” He shakes his head. “I don’t know what I’d do. You’re the only one I have left.”

“Oh, Draco,” Harry says, watching Draco’s breath hitch when he says his name, and then he slides closer on the sofa and hugs him.

“I’m being serious,” Draco complains, leaning into him anyway, curling his arms around Harry’s back.

“I know,” Harry says. “And if you don’t want to... to change things, then we don’t have to.”

Draco nods into his shoulder. “Okay,” he says, and Harry holds him closer.

He thinks, with some amount of resignation, that he was probably right the other night—about falling in love with him. But loving him means that he’ll do what Draco wants, what he needs, and if Draco needs them to stay just friends, then he’ll do it.

Even if it hurts so badly he can’t breathe.

“Fuck,” he mumbles, half on accident, and he’s hoping it was quiet enough that Draco didn’t hear it, but then Draco pulls back to look at him.

“What?” Draco asks, and Merlin, he’s so close.

Harry’s eyes flick down to Draco’s mouth. Then he shuts his eyes so he can’t stare anymore, because staring at him will make Harry want to kiss him again. “I just—”

His eyes are still closed when Draco kisses him instead.

“ _Mmph—_ ”

Draco tears himself away. “I do want it,” Draco says, so close Harry can feel his breath when he speaks. “I do, and I’m fucking terrified.”

“I know,” Harry says, and kisses him again, lets their mouths meld together. For a moment he can’t think, until they finally part and he pulls back, gasping. “You think it’s not terrifying for me too?”

“You’ve just been so upfront about it,” Draco tells him, finding Harry’s hand. He squeezes then, so hard it kind of hurts, but Harry lets him hold on, lets him anchor himself. “You knew what you wanted.”

“Even if that were always true, it doesn’t mean I’m not scared,” Harry tells him, and he cares so much about him in that moment that his chest goes tight. “You’re so important to me,” he says then, instead of saying something mad like _I love you_ —even if it’s maybe true.

“Oh,” Draco says, and kisses him again.

It’s so easy to get lost in the kissing that Harry nearly forgets they were in the middle of a conversation. “Hold on,” he mumbles, pushing Draco away after several minutes. “I—er, we should. We still need to—talk.”

“You? Wanting to talk logistics instead of rushing into something? I never thought I’d see the day,” Draco says, managing to sound mocking despite his swollen lips and flushed cheeks.

“Oh, bugger off,” Harry says, shoving him in the shoulder, which was a mistake because then Draco smirks and shoves him back, clambering on top of him, catching his wrists and—“ _Draco_ ,” Harry sighs out, immediately aware that he’s blindingly hard.

Despite the fact that he’s got him pinned down, Draco’s expression grows more serious. “I do like you,” he says in nearly a whisper.

Harry’s heart flips in his chest. “I like you,” he responds. “A lot. And... I’d like to date you, if you’d have me.”

“Don’t you dare break my heart, Potter,” Draco warns, but his eyes betray his nervousness.

“I’ll try,” Harry promises. He swallows thickly. “Is that a yes?”

“I suppose. Fuck it, okay. Yes.” For a moment Draco looks terrified.

“It’s okay,” Harry says, and he almost tells him he can take it back if he wants to, but the words snag in his throat. He _wants_ this so fucking much.

He just hopes Draco does too.

Draco sighs deeply, letting his eyes flutter shut, and Harry’s heart sinks. But then Draco nods and repeats Harry’s words. “It’s okay,” he says quietly, and then he opens his eyes and breaks into a small smile.

“Thank fucking Merlin,” Harry says, relief pulsing in his blood, and then Draco raises an eyebrow and kisses him again, tightening his grip on Harry’s wrists. Harry groans, then again, louder, when Draco bends down further and starts mouthing at his ear, then down to his jawline. “I— _fuck_.”

“What was that?” Draco asks, and then instead of letting Harry answer he starts sucking at Harry’s neck, leaving Harry only capable of a garbled moan. “Thought so,” he mutters.

An idea occurs to Harry, and he grins, wrenching his hands free of Draco’s grasp. Before Draco can manage to grab him again, Harry wraps his arms around Draco’s body and rolls, tipping them off the sofa and into the spin of Apparition.

They land on Draco’s bed, Harry on top of him, laughing at Draco’s incredulous expression. “You’re mad,” Draco says in horror, “Absolutely mad, _Potter_ —!”

Harry grins further, taking advantage of the way Draco’s jumper has rucked up to touch the smooth skin of his waist. “Only for you.”

“Take that _back_ , that was disgusting!” Draco protests, but then he’s laughing too, squirming under Harry’s touch as Harry tries to wrestle his jumper off. Draco sits up under him to help him remove it, tossing it to the floor, and then adds, “If you’re going to say things like that all the time then I refuse to be your boyfriend.”

“I think you like it,” Harry says, sliding his hands over Draco’s back and sighing at the feel of skin on skin.

“Shut up,” Draco mumbles, and then effectively shuts him up himself by kissing him.

Harry’s barely aware of the rest of their clothes coming off once they’re making out again—all he knows is that it’s not long before they’re naked completely, lying side by side, and he can finally reach out and wrap his hand around Draco’s cock. Then Draco does the same—and fuck, Draco is _touching_ him; there’s blessedly none of the awkwardness before, just the heady feel of being as close as they can possibly get.

“You’re brilliant,” he says, barely thinking about it, gasping as Draco twists his hand just right.

“Told you to stop— _oh_ —saying things like that,” Draco responds, despite looking pleased.

“Is it really that bad?” Harry asks, starting to feel shaky in the way that means he’s close.

“Maybe not,” Draco admits, and then he pushes Harry’s hand away from where Harry’s still trying to touch him. “Just let me,” he says, and then he speeds the rhythm of his fist on Harry’s cock until Harry tenses, curling tightly into him, groaning as he comes.

“Holy fuck,” Harry gasps out moments later, leaning up to capture Draco’s mouth in a brief kiss.

“You know,” Draco says, smirking lazily at him, “I suppose we were right earlier—about the sex probably being brilliant.”

Harry thinks back to the beginning, of when he’d first started wanting Draco so much he couldn’t bear it, and he laughs. “Yeah,” he says, grinning—and then, in a snap decision, he crawls down so he can take Draco’s cock into his mouth.

“Harry—oh fuck, _Potter_ ,” Draco gasps out very quickly, clutching at the sheets, and Harry starts laughing and has to pull off.

“I can be ‘Harry,’” he says with a grin.

“You can be whatever you want, just don’t _stop_ — _oh_ ,” Draco groans, as Harry proceeds to suck him down again, steadying Draco’s cock with his hand. “Keep—a bit faster, if you can—oh, yes, like that,” he instructs, and Harry appreciates that he’s being gentle but really what he kind of wants is for Draco to manhandle him a bit more.

So he reaches up blindly to find Draco’s hand, pulling it down to rest against his own hair, and Draco thankfully takes the hint, curling his hand into Harry’s curls and using his grip to urge him faster.

“I’m—it won’t take long,” Draco chokes out between gasps, and Harry nods the best he can while trapped between Draco’s hand and his cock. He focuses on keeping the rhythm the way Draco’s urging him to, and in moments Draco’s shaking, letting out a wordless cry, spilling hot and salty down Harry’s throat.

Harry wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, unable to keep an affectionate smile from leaking onto his face as he crawls back up to wrap an arm Draco.

“Stop _looking_ at me like that,” Draco protests, even though his expression mirrors Harry’s as he fumbles for his wand and casts a cleaning spell over both of them.

“As your boyfriend, can I not look at you however I want?” Harry asks, grinning fondly when Draco rolls his eyes.

“I _suppose_ ,” Draco grumbles, as dramatic as ever. “But I hope you know I expect the brilliant sex to continue if that’s the case.”

“That wasn’t even a question,” Harry says, leaning in to kiss him on the cheek. Draco turns his head then and catches him in a proper kiss, and Harry’s chest goes all soft as he pulls himself in closer to Draco.

“Oh, bollocks,” Draco says, pulling away sharply. “We _work_ together, Potter—we’re going to have to tell Robards, he’s going to have our _heads_ —”

“Shh,” Harry says, kissing the sudden furrow of Draco’ brow. “We’re not partnered, so it’ll be okay, right? It’s not like there are rules against it. And even if he’s angry—we’ll figure it out. Yeah?”

Draco looks unconvinced. “I suppose...”

“We _will_ ,” Harry insists, grabbing his hand, twining his fingers through it. “Even if it’s fucking hard, it’s worth it, right? At least—it is to me.” His throat tightens at the admission, at the worry in Draco’s face.

Draco pauses to contemplate, and then slowly, his eyes soften. “I... it’s worth it for me too,” he says. “Otherwise I’d never have brought it up in the first place, you know? But—Salazar, don’t go telling people I _admitted_ that,” he adds, making a face of brief horror.

Harry laughs and thinks for a moment about how much he loves him, knocking their foreheads together. He can’t keep from smiling. “I’m glad you brought it up.”

“Yes,” Draco says, and for a moment all the nervousness falls away from his expression, leaving only a quiet joy. “I am too.”

**Author's Note:**

> come hmu on [tumblr](https://alpha-exodus.tumblr.com/) if you want~


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